My fiancée’s childhood friend has tested me three times.
The first time, when Claire Shaw caught a cold, he hid razor blades inside my shoes—slicing open my arch—as I rushed barefoot to deliver her medicine.
He claimed it was to test whether my love for her could endure pain.
The second time, on the fifth anniversary of our relationship, while I left the office early to make her a surprise dinner, he sprinkled itching powder inside my kitchen apron.
After I finished cooking, my entire body swelled up in hives.
He laughed, saying he wanted to see if my heart was truly committed.
The third time, after two exhausting weeks on a business trip, Claire prepared a bowl of comforting noodles to welcome me home.
He hid two live earthworms in the broth.
He left me a proud message:
A test to see whether I would lose control — abuse her — after tasting the bitterness in love.
Claire always spoke gently when defending Jason Kim:
“Jason used his tuition to cover my mom’s surgery.
His attempt to study abroad failed because of that.”
“And while we were abroad, he took care of my mom at the rehabilitation facility.”
“He sacrificed so much for me. It’s just hard for him to accept that I’m marrying you. Please try to understand him.”
But what Claire didn’t know was—
because of that third test, her wedding was about to turn into a funeral.
“Ethan… why are there earthworms in the noodles Claire made for you?”
Linda Shaw knelt on the floor, choking and retching, fury in her trembling voice.
She had secretly returned from the rehabilitation center, hoping to surprise Claire.
Claire wasn’t home.
Only a bowl of noodles, clearly labeled for me, waited on the dining table.
Linda was exhausted and hungry from the long bus ride.
She took a bite—
and bit into two cold, slimy worms.
Then the Bluetooth speaker in the living room suddenly played Jason’s voice:
“Ethan Carter! Hahaha!
How’s the earthworm flavor?”
“This is your third test.”
“Love isn’t always sweet! You must handle the bitterness too!”
Linda’s body shook with rage.
“Jason Kim put those things in the noodles?! What is going on?!”
I forced a bitter smile.
“Claire said you owed him. That he paid for your surgery.
That he cared for you for years, and… he loves her.
She wanted to let him vent.”
Linda froze—then snapped:
“Rubbish! That boy gambled all his tuition away! He never paid for my surgery!”
“Ethan, call Claire back right now!”
I dialed Claire again and again—no answer.
The silence in the room turned suffocating.
It was late at night.
Her being out was already troubling.
Now her phone was unreachable—as if she’d vanished.
Linda’s complexion worsened with worry.
Finally, on my tenth attempt—
a voice picked up. Not Jason’s.
Claire’s. Anger boiling beneath every word:
“Ethan, I allowed Jason to put those earthworms there!”
“Last time, he was just helping me pick up clothes from our bedroom, and you beat him up!”
“That was a punishment!”
I froze, stunned.
Jason was clearly trying to install a hidden camera in our bedroom—
I caught him red-handed.
I didn’t even hit him that hard.
But Claire cut me off, furious:
“Enough! Jealousy doesn’t justify slandering him!”
“I’ve told you so many times—he took care of Mom and sacrificed everything for us!”
“A few tests and you’re making this a huge deal?!”
“You’re so petty—and violent!”
I grew up in foster care.
Linda Shaw funded my education and treated me like family.
Every time Claire guilt-tripped me using that history—
I stayed silent.
But Linda had just told me the truth:
Jason is nothing but a gambling addict.
He never contributed to any medical fees.
He lied to Claire for years.
I was about to tell her everything—
but she hung up before I could utter a word.
Linda’s face twisted in shock and disappointment—
“This is insane… absolutely insane—”
She collapsed mid-sentence, hitting the floor with a thud.
Her limbs turned rigid.
Her breathing strangled.
Hives spread rapidly across her body.
Then I realized:
Severe allergic reaction.
Earthworms = high protein.
Her chronic urticaria had been triggered.
Her throat was swelling—she had under 60 minutes, maybe less, before suffocation.
We lived in a suburban house near Lake Washington—
an hour away from Providence Medical Center.
She wouldn’t last that long.
I called Dr. Brown, our private doctor—
but loud bar music burst through the line before it abruptly cut off.
He texted:
“Mr. Carter, we’re on paid leave tonight.
Claire’s orders—celebrating Jason’s birthday at the bar!”
My grip crushed the phone—rage boiling.
“Someone is dying. You have ten minutes to get back—”
Before I finished, a smug voice replaced his:
“Ethan! It’s my birthday!”
“There’s no one dying there. It’s just you trying to ruin my night.”
Then Claire’s voice, seething:
“Ethan Carter! You want to destroy Jason’s birthday over a couple earthworms?!”
“If I tell you to eat a whole bowl of worms, you will quietly obey!”
Jason’s voice followed:
“Claire, what if he shows up to ruin the party?”
“Lock the house.”
“Already did.”
The call ended.
Linda fought for breath—dying.
Claire had taken the only medical help—
and locked us on the third floor.
My texts bounced back—blocked.
She deleted me to avoid interruptions.
Linda died with her eyes wide open—
filled with pain and rage.
Moments later, Jason updated Instagram:
“Love is long companionship.”
A photo of Claire clinging to his arm—
the perfect couple.
Tears burned down my face.
Everything Claire and I once had—ended right then.
Linda spent her life sacrificing for her daughter.
When Claire was a teen applying for a school camp—
Linda sold the winter coat she’d ordered for herself
so Claire could join.
Every time Claire mentioned it,
she cried in my arms, vowing she’d repay her mother—
forever.
Linda Shaw spent years working herself into illness, and without hesitation Claire Shaw sent her to the best rehabilitation facility in Seattle, paying for three full years of treatment.
Linda finally got better. She came back quietly, hoping to surprise her daughter.
Yet because of one damn worm, her life ended.
The thought burned in my chest:
When Claire learns the truth… what a reaction that will be.
It wasn’t until early morning that the door lock finally clicked open.
I drove Linda’s body to Providence Medical Center—to the morgue.
On the way, I texted Claire Shaw:
“Your mom is in the hospital morgue. If you care, come see her.”
Her call came almost instantly, her voice shaking with fury:
“Ethan Carter, my mom treated you extremely well! What the hell are you trying to do—cursing her like this?”
“Yesterday you claimed she needed emergency treatment just to ruin Jason’s birthday party. I let that slide.”
“But now? Now you’re spreading lies that she’s dead?!”
I didn’t argue. I snapped a picture of the morgue doors and sent it.
It didn’t take long for Claire to arrive—with Jason Kim beside her.
The moment she saw me, she slapped me across the face.
She shoved a cheerful picture in front of me—Linda laughing brightly in a sunny courtyard.
“LOOK. She’s at the rehab center, happy and healthy!”
“Jason sent me this. None of what you said happened!”
The woman in the video looked like Linda—but not quite.
Anyone who cared to observe would see the truth.
Hand on my cheek, I let out a bitter laugh.
“Claire… you don’t even recognize your own mother?”
She was livid.
Before she could fire back, I pointed toward the morgue.
“She’s right there. Go see for yourself.”
Only then did Claire notice the dried, dark stains on my jacket—the mess Linda coughed onto me in her final moments.
Her expression wavered. Doubt crept in.
Right as she pushed the door—
Jason dropped hard to his knees, voice trembling in rehearsed sorrow:
“Ethan… I’ve been taking care of Linda these three years while you two were overseas.”
“If she’s dead… doesn’t that mean I failed her?”
“And the security footage from last night—no one else went inside except you!”
Linda avoided the cameras to surprise Claire. And now that choice… erased the truth.
Claire froze.
She looked back at me—her eyes full of cold betrayal.
“So this is what you’re after.”
“Jason was right to test you. You’re selfish. Self-serving. Cruel.”
Jason’s words crushed every thread of trust.
No explanation from me mattered anymore.
They left—Jason smirking as if he’d already won.
—
That night, after handling the minimal arrangements for Linda…
I posted a death notice on Facebook.
I also informed Family & Friends:
The wedding next week is canceled.
Claire called immediately—panic replacing anger:
“Ethan! You can’t just post that! Everyone’s asking me what’s going on!”
“Do you know how impossible you’re making this for me?!”
My voice stayed calm.
“Then don’t have it.”
“…What did you say…?”
I repeated, word for word:
“Claire, let’s break up.”
Her voice cracked into a scream:
“Ethan—seven years together, and you’re dumping me over jealousy of Jason?!”
